


And Now You Know

by d__T



Series: ot4 shenanigans [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: 99th ravager clan, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ch 2:, Hraxian Kraglin, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Sexting, Stakar's Got A Kink That He Didn't Know About, Verbal Domination, Yondu contributes 'being asleep for the action' in this fic, and now he does, future uniform kink, mostly light verbal humiliation, weird alien biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-01 23:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11496831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: Prompt: Admiral Ogord gets off on being dommed by someone of lesser rank. He has no idea he has this kink until Yondu passes out and leaves him and Kraglin with an uncomfortable amount of eye contact.





	1. Chapter 1

It seemed impossible to wear Yondu out under normal circumstances. And yet, Kraglin and Stakar had managed it somehow. It'd taken a couple of hours, eating him out, sucking him off, fingering him back and forth. The competitive edge between them has Yondu growling and goading them on until he comes so hard on Stakar’s thick fingers that he just about blacks out.

And that leaves Stakar and Kraglin glaring at each other over Yondu’s maybe-asleep form as Stakar wipes his fingers off on Yondu’s chest. That wholly proves that Yondu is out ‘cause he woulda hollered otherwise. They lock eyes and Yondu’s earlier words of  _ yeah, ye can keep going if I pass out _ echo in their minds.

Kraglin breaks the slightly uncomfortable silence first. “I get him first.”

Magnanimously, Stakar offers, “We’re could share him. Ass and pussy.”

And he wouldn't even have to touch the grubby Hraxian like that.

“Ass ain't ready, and I don't feel like prepping him.” Kraglin is crawling across Yondu, posture more defensive than sexual. “Do you?”

Stakar really doesn't. He just wants to feel that new and astounding blue pussy around his cock. “Seems we're at an impasse.”

“I’unno. It's been a long time for you, Admiral. Might hafta show ya how it's done.”

That insubordinate little shit! Stakar lunges at him, tolerance for this mouthy brat of a First Mate done and through. 

The lunge catches Kraglin across the shoulders and just about flips him onto his back. Instead of staying down, he rolls onto the floor and yanks Stakar’s legs out from under him until he falls too.

From there it’s a relatively quick and painless fight. Kraglin slips Stakar’s hold and claws his way onto the stockier man’s back. Stakar bucks, but Kraglin digs the bony points of his hips into Stakar’s ass and lays a shove on his shoulders. Stakar suddenly drops, face and chest to the deck, and Kraglin goes with him. 

It’s instinct then, just the right thing to do to bite into the meat of Stakar’s shoulder.

Stakar shivers and freezes. 

Kraglin hears a quiet moan come through gritted teeth.

“You like this, huh, Admiral? Shoulda said.” Kraglin says it with a smirk, makes the rank ghost of his breath touch Stakar’s ear. “Tha’s  _ good _ .”

He plants a hand high on Stakar’s back so he can push himself up and get his leg situation untangled while Stakar remains bowed and panting. The breaths flicking across the deck are a real pretty effect from the Admiral, Kraglin decides, and reaches under Stakar to grip his cock.

Stakar is way harder than he anticipated, and he snickers. “Guess I’m not the only one who needs put in his place.”

It’s so obvious that Stakar is trying to not grind into Kraglin’s hand, but the way Kraglin is draped over him means he can feel every motion the man makes. Every choked off flex of his hips, every ragged breath. The transposition of expected position is making his head spin.

No witty reply comes to Stakar. It would make him angry, only that sort of rational thought has left him. There’s only Kraglin’s voice, humiliating him. Taunting him with every offhand remark he’s ever made, it feels like. He’s gonna thrash him, just as soon as Kraglin’s done with whatever he’s doing.

“You want me to fuck you.” Kraglin’s growled question masquerades as a statement. “On the floor, Admiral.”

Stakar shakes his head yes.

Kraglin leans down to grit the rest into his ear. “Like the animal you think I am.”

Stakar realizes he closed his eyes at some point when Kraglin’s shift in position takes him by complete surprise. He pries himself off the floor now that he isn't pinned.

From somewhere over his head, Kraglin continues. “Think you want it? Think you  _ deserve _ it?”

The parts of Stakar's skin now exposed to the air feel cold. The Hraxian was all over him.

“Naw, I don't think you do. Don't know what you've got yerself into.” It's punctuated by the pop of the lube cap.

The sound feels way more threatening than the flip of a piece of plastic should.

He’s rougher on Stakar than they were on Yondu. Yondu they were teasing, stretching, overwhelming with one-upmanship. Now it’s Kraglin grinding lubed fingers into Stakar’s ass, one after another. He keeps him on the edge of pain, one hand pulling a cheek to the side and the other stretching the tight hole.

It takes Stakar a moment to parse what the feeling is, it’s  _ lube _ dripping  _ down his leg _ . Kraglin’s already made him sloppy and he hasn’t even put his cock in him yet. And while he’s working through that, Kraglin says in a conversational tone, “It's a  _ real _ shame you don't have your pretty lil uniform on, I’d like ta get my 'grubby little hands' on that. I think you’d like that, huh?”

Stakar’s imagination picks that up and  _ bolts _ . Leaves him with the idea of Kraglin pulling his uniform trousers down just enough to rail him, and then letting him drip inside of the uniform.

Kraglin splinters the image by pulling his fingers out and continuing his one sided conversation.

"But it's okay-" That’s definitely the feeling of Kraglin lining his cock up with Stakar’s hole.

Kraglin can’t talk through pushing into Stakar. It’s too much after the on and off sensitization of the previous hours and he stutters on a gasp. Stakar doesn’t appear to notice. He’s got full engagement on trying to force his body to accept Kraglin’s cock.

Until Kraglin bites his shoulder and holds it. He can feel hot and cold running out from the bite, running like liquor and ice, like the strip marks Aleta’s flogger leave in his skin rolling down his back to meet the heat from Kraglin thrusting into him.

Kraglin his his stride and starts in on the words again.

“Tomorrow you'll be dressed up all fancy, an' you'll still have these-" He bites into Stakar’s shoulders again, making the bite marks symmetrical- "and you'll know, won't you? You'll know who fucked you"

Stakar whines, the sound hitched up by Kraglin driving a thrust home. He drops his head under the words and then his shoulders, curling to brace himself. And somehow the new angle makes Kraglin's dick feel larger and it's  _ too much _ . 

Instead of going slack with his orgasm, Stakar goes taut, staked out by muscle and humiliation. Clamps down so hard on Kraglin’s dick that he’s momentarily afraid for it. And then he relaxes, slumping near boneless.

Kraglin is gasping swears.

Kraglin grabs his knot and rams his knuckles up against Stakar’s pulsing rim. He follows him a gasp later, locking into his clenched fist and pumping Stakar full of cum.

Stakar keens as Kraglin pulls out. The head of his cock drags some cum out, and if he squishes his knot more leaks out of him. He smears it across Stakar’s ass.

“Yer nice n dirty now, Admiral. How’s it feel? Just like you wanted, sir?”

Stakar groans and tries to haul himself off the floor, but only succeeds in rolling himself onto his side. His thicker cum is stuck in a gooey strand between his cock and his leg and a splat on the deck. And Kraglin can see some of his own cum sliding out and matting up Stakar’s leg hair too.

Looks good to him. Looks real good. Kraglin laughs a little, very quietly, mostly in disbelief at what he’s just done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I said future uniform kink and by god, here's some uniform kink.
> 
> They do it again, more formal this time.

Kraglin is plenty familiar with awkwardly overdrawn conversations. He’s usually the one to walk away from them, but he was conflating work and relaxation by having his datapad read him some reports in a soft and soothing tone when the Admiral interrupted him. So now he’s trapped, listening to Stakar mumble himself into small talk.

He was probably here for Yondu. Shame about how Yondu ain’t here.

Kraglin pushes the datapad to aside so he can stretch. He overdoes it a little, rolling his back over the arm of the couch until it pops and he’s looking at Stakar upside down and sideways.

Stakar looks a little distressed from this angle. The expression is the same after he’s folded himself upright again, the same after he’s pulled the edge of the once-white shirt he wears under the jumpsuit back down over his belly.

“You got something you wanna say, Admiral?”

Stakar startles, caught staring at- Kraglin doesn’t know. There’s nothing to look at over here. Stakar is still looking though, with that slightly nervous look that puts Kraglin off kilter.

Kraglin looks around facetiously. “Didn’ find what you was lookin for?”

Stakar’s nervous look is stronger now. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well, if yer that desperate, then I  _ guess _ you’ll just hafta make do with me.” Kraglin smiles. There’s the possibility of seduction, except for all the extra teeth unbalancing the smile. He can’t help it, there’s literally an extra tooth on one side. Stakar is kind of horrified, kind of fascinated by this example of dentition from Yondu’s crew, but mostly horrified by himself not minding it.

“You want-”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Admiral.”

Stakar reflexively glowers, scowl so cutting that Kraglin thinks he’s already gone too far. But then Stakar doesn’t say anything and that’s as good as permission.

“Kneel for me.” Kraglin’s posture is studiously large; arms spread wide across the back cushions of the couch and lean pushing his knees forward and apart. Usually he occupies less space, lets his captain shine, but here it’s all his.

Stakar hesitates. His hands go to the edge of his uniform jacket to start on the buttons hidden behind the placket.

Kraglin narrows his gaze. “Don’t bother getting undressed, Admiral. Just kneel.”

Stakar drops with the ease and grace of someone practiced in kneeling down without hitting their knees or breaking eye contact. Kraglin is moderately impressed by this.

Kraglin lets the moment stretch as he chooses the next action. This allows Stakar to look around the room. It’s temporary housing for Kraglin and Yondu while the Quadrant is retrofitted into a fully functional ship and the pair’s ability to filth up anything they come in contact with is astounding, the room is still pretty clean. Still clean enough to put Kraglin in stark contrast with it, the washed-dirt-off-white raggedness of his shirt and the rank that will never ever come out of his jumpsuit jarring against clean lines and colors.

Stakar, on his knees, still fits in. Someone gave a damn about making his uniform look good, and look good on him. He’s proud of it.

“Touch yourself.” The command is simple when it comes. Stakar holds his position, kneeling with his knees slightly apart and his hands at his sides.

Kraglin grins. “Gonna make me repeat myself, Admiral?”

Stakar stares at him. Then shakes his head. He can’t hold Kraglin’s challenging gaze when he starts rubbing his cock through the crisp fabric of his uniform. He has to look away in heated shame. The uniform catches the heat radiating off him, trapping it under his arms and between his legs and under his hand. There’s so much of it.

And Kraglin just watches him, eyes cold and no blush rising to his cheeks. Motionless except for the rise and fall of his thin chest.

Well, if Kraglin won’t give him anything, then he’ll just have to do it himself.

The uniform is putting a crick in his dick. He tugs at the button clips in the waistband, planning on reaching into his pants and pulling his cock to straighten out the uncomfortable bend at the root.

Kraglin interrupts him. “Hey, did I tell you to do that?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

Kraglin’s blank face shifts slightly with the flicker of an approving look. “That’s right. As you were.”

Stakar removes his hands from the waistband and goes back to stroking and squeezing the hard bulge of his cock through the front of his pants. 

“Kraglin,” He says. Kraglin ignores him.

“Sir,” He tries.

Kraglin responds. “Do you want something, Admiral?”

His voice is shakey when he speaks, “If I keep going, I’ll ruin my uniform. I-”

Kraglin flicks a stop gesture at him and he silences himself abruptly.

“Ain’t that the point? Ya got three choices. Ye can come  _ in _ the uniform,  _ on _ the uniform, or ye don’ come at all. Yer choice, 10 seconds starting  _ now _ .”

Stakar chokes. His mind is blank, his hands feel hot, his dick feels too much. There are too many competing factors to negotiate. It’s not a decision that can be made in ten seconds.

“ _ Ding _ ,” Kraglin says with a smirk. “Get out.”

“Kraglin,  _ please _ .” Stakar says. Kraglin can’t just make him leave; that wasn’t one of the choices. He feels like he’s begging. He’s begging. He hates it, he hates all of this. He swears in this moment that this will never happen again.

“I said,  _ get out _ , Admiral. Up you get. And don’t go thinking ye can jerk off in yer room now.”

* * *

 

The walk to his quarters is hell. He’s walked through firefights less strenuous than this. He can feel every shift of fabric over his body but especially over his cock. Not even  _ Aleta _ is this cruel to him. He feels like he’s caving in on himself. He’s the  _ Admiral _ , why can’t he handle a little discomfort.

And he’s totally gonna jerk off after he makes it to his quarters. He ain’t gotta live like this.

It takes two tries to input his door code correctly, the six digits twisting under his fingers, and then he can tumble through and lock it behind him. He allows himself a breath of relief before stumbling off to his bed. Uniform’s gotta come off, and then he can escape.

His hands are working on the jacket buttons when his wrist comm buzzes. He considers ignoring it, but it might be something important.

It’s a message from Kraglin. It consists only of, “ ಠ_ಠ”

It’s so startling that Stakar laughs. He’s dealing with a child. And children can be ignored until they go away, he knows this. He dumps the comm on the bedside table, where he can ignore it while he jerks off.

Now his fingers make quick work of the jacket’s buttons. He hangs it on the back of a chair, and then pauses. He decides he’ll leave the pants on so he can pretend that he didn’t blunder the game with Kraglin. But he won’t get them messy. That’ll require  _ cleaning _ and he doesn’t wanna.

Slowly, he presses a hand to the bulge in his trousers and rubs. He thinks about the orders Kraglin gave him, and decides he can ignore them. Kraglin will never know.

Disobeying ordering is disconcerting. It feels  _ bad _ . He presses both hands flat against the bedspread and tries to talk himself down from this. Kraglin is at least two ranks down from him any way he counts it, and only recently reinstated as a Ravager.

The comm buzzes again while he’s fighting with himself. He checks it to distract himself from the internal debate.

It’s a message from Kraglin. It reads, “dont.” The previous message shows above the current one; the expression seeming to watching his actions. 

He slams his head back against the bedspread. “ _ What the hell _ .”

Now he can’t get off. Kraglin isn’t letting him.

Unless. Maybe the choices are still active. Now he can consider his choices. If he comes in the uniform, he’ll have to work through it and that might be more difficult now that Kraglin’s eyes aren’t directly on him. So he could come on the uniform. Easier, but he’ll have to watch himself do the defiling.

He won’t be able to pretend that he doesn’t get off on it anymore.

Slowly, he tells his comm. “Message to Obfonteri. I’ll do it.”

The reply is almost instantaneous. “Do what”

He feels a blush of shame when he tries to say it, and there’s no one even in the room to overhear him state exactly what he’s going to do. Making it all worse, it takes two tries to get the comm to render his words correctly. Finally, he can send a message reading, “I’ll come on the uniform.”

The reply takes a moment longer than last time. “Pics or it didn’t happen.”

Stakar groans and drops the comm again. Does Kraglin even know what he’s asking?

Of course he knows. Kraglin’s not stupid, no matter what Stakar thinks.

He lays his uniform out across the bed, arranging it like he would if he was getting dressed. And then there’s a moment where he standing there looking at it with his dick in his hand and he can’t figure out how to do this. Each part makes sense. Jerk off.  _ On the uniform _ . Send a picture. He can’t connect them as a whole.

Stakar imagines Kraglin leaning over his shoulder, whispering cruel nothings to him, goading him on. He shuts his eyes, which makes jerking himself fast and hard easier, and opens them again when he realizes Kraglin wouldn’t let him shut his eyes.

His cum has never been the kind to spatter particularly well, it’s too thick in consistency. But the glob of it spreads across the belly of uniform jacket, crawling through the fabric with a sort of determination to destroy. 

_ What has he done _ ?

He takes a picture of his messy hand smearing the glob across the jacket and sends it before he can panic at what he’s just done. 

The time between  _ send _ and the bzzt of  _ received _ is excruciatingly long. The message reads, “Good work, Admiral.”

Now the weirdly absent relief of orgasm rushes through him, flowing hot through the big arteries in his arms and legs. He got it right. He did it. He can relax now, so he does.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the clan for doing all the hard work. I just put meat back on the skeletons.


End file.
